


Racing on the Thunder

by Jennypen



Series: Someone Reaching Back for Me [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Swap AU, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennypen/pseuds/Jennypen
Summary: Freshman Shiro is pretty hung up on Senior Lance at the Garrison, but no-one else shares his opinion. At least, not until a hostage situation changes everything.Prequel to I Need a Hero





	Racing on the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the Shance Zine - I wrote it way back in January and have been bursting to post it, and I finally can!

“Take that down.” The voice was authoritative and brooked no argument, but still, it came.

“This is an infringement of my free speech.” The student sounded shrill; nervous, and rightly so.

“I don’t think you have any concept of what free speech actually entails,” Iverson said in a voice of pained patience, and the student shrank slightly. The commander reached forward and almost negligently yanked the poster off the wall. “Certainly it does not permit you to decorate government property as you see fit. If you have an issue with the entire nature of the space program in which you are enrolled, perhaps we should discuss that in my office,” he went on, and Shiro, halfway down the corridor, shivered.

When he put it like that, it seemed stupid. Why the student was trying to put up a poster for the Earther Movement, Shiro was mystified - it went against everything the Garrison stood for. Commander Iverson’s firm intolerance was entirely appropriate, but Shiro couldn’t help the wince, watching the student’s shoulders slump as she reluctantly followed after Iverson. She wasn’t someone who was known to Shiro, and after that conversation, likely never would be.

The corridor was quiet once more, and the few other cadets who had been pretending not to stare exchanged glances, and moved on. Shiro thought that would be the end of it.

* * *

He was wrong.

As with everything at the Galaxy Garrison, rumour spread faster than the speed of light, as evidenced by later that day when Shiro overheard someone in the commissary talk about a fistfight and it took him a moment to catch up and realise that was how the event had gone down with the retelling - a fistfight where an Earther ‘spy’ had been forcibly detained after attempting to sow the seeds of violent anarchy.

“No,” he said tiredly, louder than he’d intending and drawing a silence. He blinked, realising several tables were staring at him

“Did you see it happen, Shiro?”

“I bet it was Shiro who took them down!”

“That’s what I said earlier, Janine, were you even listening?”

“Shut up, no you didn’t!”

A buzz of voices started up again, and a gaggle of students mosied up to Shiro, eyes eager with anticipated scandal. He had little patience for gossip, but innate politeness forced a default smile across his face.

“No I didn’t,” he said, and they deflated somewhat. “It wasn’t me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’d know,” Shiro chuckled, and one of them elbowed the guy who asked. “It wasn’t a big deal - I think Iverson was more worried about the tape damage to the walls than the subject,” he lied. Best to nip this in the bud or he’d never hear the end of it.

“Bo-ring,” one of the girls chanted, nudging her friend. They both giggled. “I bet if they _were_ Earther spies, Shiro would take them down anyway.”

This was met with widespread agreement, and Shiro felt his cheeks flush. After almost six months, he’d still never gotten used to the level of attention his entry test scores had gotten him - while he didn’t mind the admiration most of the time, sometimes the blind belief people held in him kept him slightly distant, as he was never entirely certain people liked him for him, and not just for the association with his rank on the bizarre social hierarchy peculiar to the Garrison. Keith was the one exception, but then he’d known Shiro from before, so there was no questioning his motives. While Shiro wasn’t entirely certain how to navigate the varying cliques, he did find one aspect of the entire system infinitely frustrating, namely-

Hey, Shiro? You getting something to eat?” One of the girls interrupted his thoughts.

“Duh, that’s why he’s here,” one of the others corrected with an eyeroll.

Shiro would have responded, but he felt his arms tighten as the biggest source of his issue with the social system strolled oblivious into the commissary, and he forgot there was even someone talking to him.

Third year, nondescript. Ranking fairly low on the school who’s who but known to all, Lance drew little attention beyond that which his senior status afforded him. He was deep in conversation with his best friend, Hunk, face lit up with spirited animation as he talked both loudly and with his hands. His words were impossible to make out over the hum of a cafeteria-full of people chattering, but he was grinning.

“-Iro? Hey, Shiro?” Someone was talking to him. He started slightly, covering his misstep with a wide smile.

“Sorry, daydreaming,” he apologised, hoping no-one noticed him staring.

“No wonder you’re the best, if you’re so spaced out,” one girl laughed, and the group laughed with each other. “Hey, did you want to eat with us?”

“Oh, uh…” Shiro stalled, waiting to see what Lance and Hunk would do, not wanting to stay if they didn’t. Luckily, they were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice him, and those around him were too enamoured with the novelty of Shiro talking to them that they didn’t complain, either, even though he’d barely said a word. “No thanks,” he said, finding his voice. “I’m late for… meeting… In the assembly hall.”

Lance was still laughing. He was _always_ laughing.

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, as if assessing, but she shrugged and let it slide after a moment. “Alright, see ya later!”

Stupidly, Shiro was now obliged to follow up on his spur-of-the-moment lie, which was going to take him out of the commissary, still hungry, but he had no choice - he was a poor improviser, especially when he was distracted. The group dispersed and headed for the mess line, and Shiro was left standing in the corner, annoyed at himself as he was forced to walk back out of the hall.

Outside, he cursed under his breath - cursed himself, cursed his fellow students, cursed Lance for being so goddamn _pretty_. It defied Shiro’s understanding how poorly-regarded Lance was - the first time Shiro had laid eyes on him he’d practically had to pick his own jaw up off the floor, but he’d come to realise most people found Lance incapable and annoying. The entire school social structure was built around the fighter pilot program, a disappointingly high school-like metaphor that was one of the saddest home truths behind the world-renowned Galaxy Garrison, and Lance, a cargo pilot, barely even featured on the radar.

Stupid. The whole thing was stupid - Shiro had only had to overhear Lance talking to a fellow freshman outside the simulator once, cradling their eggshell ego with a gentle story he’d apparently heard involving Instructor Dos Santos accidentally breaking part of the steering array when he was a student. The student went from anxious tears from sniffling laughter in under a minute and Shiro felt like his soul had been picked up off the ground and dragged into the open. How no-one else saw this, he didn’t know, but then, he’d been surprised the first time he actually heard that voice in public, a different timbre attached to a wholly attractive face.

_‘Hey ladies, got some free time tonight? I sure do.’_

_‘Of course you do, creep.’_

_At that moment, Shiro realised his social understanding was severely limited, and that Lance was more complex than he’d previously thought._

Still, now, despite coming to understand that Lance was viewed as little more than a cargo pilot repeatedly (and fruitlessly) pitching out of his league, Shiro couldn’t get the sound of Lance’s patient, reassuring voice out of his head.

Everyone else was wrong.

* * *

Surrounded by casual, laughing students, it was easy to forget the true nature of the Galaxy Garrison but when they stood in neat lines, backs stiff and shoulders straight, there was no doubting it was a military institution. Iverson stood addressing them all on a raised platform, discussing the merits of inter-year mentorship. Six months in, even those perennially unable to concentrate had learned how to hold still enough in formation to not draw attention to their lack of focus. Usually Shiro was more alert than today but his game was off - it had been a weird day. Luckily, the assembly was only for the first years, otherwise he wasn’t entirely sure he’d have been able to resist trying to find the subject of his distraction.

Iverson’s voice was booming - used to commanding the attentions of bored cadets, he had the exact tone and volume to carry across a room and frighten people into line, so it was an achievement that Shiro was still zoned out enough to miss almost everything being said around him, mind completely elsewhere.

Damn near miraculous, then, that he heard the prick of the pinpull, the whistle of displaced air. Shiro snapped to alertness, eyes wide and searching for the origin of the sound - he wasn’t alone, there was an instant shift from ordered rows to a panicked crowd, giving away the location of the grenade not a moment too soon - shock rippled through the hall as people leapt backwards, falling over each other in mutual terror.

When it went off, it was louder, far louder and brighter than Shiro would have expected but while people fell there was only the chaos of frightened teenagers - no-one was hurt. A flash bang, undoubtedly, which presented a different problem - someone was trying to scare them.

Iverson was yelling, for once unable to get a grip on the hysteria of room and force it back down, when something else did it for him - shattering gunfire from the back of the room drew a protracted shrieking followed by a grim silence.

Ten - no, fifteen - people filed into the auditorium, guns still aimed upward and blithely ignoring the falling ceiling panels. Unlike the stun grenade, these were the real deal. They spread themselves around the room as the cadets huddled closer together. Iverson, the only member of staff in the room and a career military officer, kept himself carefully still as two of them approached the stage, one with the clear bearing of a leader. Given Shiro’s impression of Iverson, he half expected the man to greet them, but instead, he stayed still and silent, waiting.

The power in the room did not lie with him.

The leader, a woman wearing grey-white fatigues, stepped confidently onto the stage.

“Down,” she said simply, using her weapon as an indicator. For a long, tense moment, Shiro worried that Iverson would attempt to control the situation, but then Iverson stepped off the stage with only a soft clack of his boots, to join the huddle of cadets.

The atmosphere of the room changed, then - perhaps some of the students had had more faith and less understanding of the situation than Shiro, but Iverson’s compliance meant that no-one started shooting - once someone got hurt, or worse, died, that would tip the balance heavily, risking everyone else. Iverson was no fool.

“Good afternoon, class,” she said in a voice used to addressing the masses. Instantly charismatic, and somewhat familiar, it took Shiro a moment to recognise where he’d seen her face before. It took the insignia sewn into her jumpsuit to jog his memory.

Charlie Fielding, founder of the Earther Movement.

As if the stun grenade and weapons weren’t bad enough, this far more serious - she was someone who was seen after the fact, known from shaky, secretly-filmed videos of speeches at unannounced rallies that still attracted enough heads to suggest an undiscovered, underground communications network. She inspired fanaticism on an expanding scale, but as of yet had been met with large indifference from authorities who laughed off any suggestion of a realistic threat - lunatics who thought that humans were put on God’s Earth for a reason, and viciously opposed the increasing move toward galactic exploration that the Galaxy Garrison prided itself for spearheading.

After today, Shiro thought to himself, their threat level was going to be seriously reassessed.

“Kindly stay where you are,” she called out. “You are hostages, let’s not beat around the bush, but I have zero interest in harming you if I don’t need to. Behave, and I won’t be forced to change my mind. You will be given a chance to repent, I guarantee it.”

There was no response, but Shiro could tell, fear was somewhat clouding his fellow cadets’ belief in her words. Quite rightly so.

“I regret to inform you that you have all been labouring under a misconstruction - you’ve been sold a romantic image of space travel as the next logical step for humanity, but Earth is where we were created, and we are not meant to play in God’s Kingdom. After today, you will be given the opportunity to carry out His work in the paradise he created for you,” she went on, clearly under the impression that she sounded reasonable, but a room full of idealistic young adults who had spent the last few years (and in some cases, their entire lives) dreaming of interstellar exploration were not easily swayed by spiritual rhetoric. But then, Fielding had expected that - one gun could have held up the thirty-four students and one instructor easily. Fifteen meant meant something entirely different.

Fifteen said she was ready for a firefight, or a long, slow battle of wills.

She’d called them hostages.

…It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Eight hours.

It was past midnight. By now, everyone in the room had downgraded to sitting on the floor, except for Fielding herself, who stood unwavering on the platform. She’d made a video call to the commissioning higher-ups of the Garrison, and when she didn’t get the instant result she wanted, she’d picked the most delicate-looking of students, held a gun to their head and made a live video broadcast attracting the attention of the media. It had been carefully orchestrated to make her appear more merciless, a tougher player - the moment she’d cut the broadcast she’d smiled, given the student a reassuring pat on the arm and ushered them back towards the rest of the crowd. She was, it seemed, willing to skirt complications like hysterical students if she could avoid it - they were a means to an end, and little more.

Their demands were simple in nature and impossible in execution - they asked for a complete end to space travel to be written into law, effective immediately, and the dissolution of the Galaxy Garrison. Once the law was in place, they would release the hostages. At some point, they’d trucked in a pallet of water bottles, and handed them out freely, but other than that, it was just a waiting game.

Shiro looked around the room. Some slept, stress-exhausted. Others leaned into each other, eyes wide and alert, sagging with fear. Iverson was stiff-backed, rigid with ingrained discipline. Outside, the sky was dark, but the lights of the hall burned bright still, and the fourteen other Earthers alongside Fielding were alert, carefully watchful over both the hostages and all the floor entrances and exits.

Even they were taken by complete surprise when the entire hall was plunged into sudden darkness.

Someone screamed before there was the sound of a hand clapping onto a face - whether it was their own or someone else’s, Shiro would never be sure but he couldn’t adjust fast enough to the feeble moonlight to see. Pulse picking up, he saw a tiny ball of light sail in an arc over everyone’s heads towards the front entrance of the hall. Its trajectory flew it high, and it hit square off the entrance doors. There was a loud, _loud_ explosion and the doors blew outwards, one hanging from the hinges after the flameburst vanished, the other crashing to the floor. Several of the Earthers leapt to their feet - Shiro could hear them clicking the safety - and sprinted to the door, piling up alongside it. There was a flurry outside, too many sounds to be identified readily, before a spotlight shone right into the room, near-blinding everyone.

There was chaos at the broken doors - Fielding herself hopped off the stage to investigate. At her beckon, one of her underlings found Iverson on the edge of the group and yanked him to his feet. It was impossible to discern what was going on outside but one thing was clear, she was ready to meet it head on.

“Psst, hey, hotshot!”

Shiro stiffened - surely, he’d imagined that.

A hissed whisper- “Oi!”

He whipped his head around to the source of the voice, to find - yup - Lance’s head peeking out from behind a partition that Shiro knew to be in front of a small backstage door, and it struck him - _there was no-one guarding it_. Shiro was momentarily stunned and his eyes must have shown it - they’d been alone under threat for eight solid hours, the idea that they would get rescued diminishing minute by minute but no, here was Lance right after what was now, obviously, a diversionary tactic.

Once their eyes met, Lance started miming actions - six flashes of outstretched fingers, a curled fist opening suddenly, and two fingers pointed downwards.

Thirty seconds. Explosion. Running.

Shiro nodded in comprehension, and Lance grinned. He indicated the other students around Shiro with an incline of his head, and Shiro understood immediately.

He turned to the nearest person and tugged their arm. “Get ready to run for the stage - twenty-five seconds, there’ll be an explosion. Pass it on, fast.” They paused for a second, processing, before obeying. Within twenty seconds, every cadet had steeled themselves to run - thirty-four coiled springs, not a moment too soon as Shiro watched Lance edge around the side, quickly take aim and launch an identical light ball to earlier - he must have been responsible for the first one, too. Lance had a hell of an arm - it landed just inside the door, forcing the nearby Earthers to dive for cover as the fireball lit up momentarily.

The spotlight went out.

As one, the cadets ran for the stage - Shiro could just about make out Lance moving the partition aside to let them through, and, almost against belief, the cadets started to disappear through the narrow doorway - it was happening, Lance was _saving them_.

Shiro had never been so happy to be proven right in his life.

It was happening so fast - more than half the cadets had piled through the doorway, now, and Lance was standing to one side, ushering them through when they heart the sound of stuttering gunfire. The running cadets slowed, heads whipping around but no-one was hurt.

“Keep going,” Lance spat, eyes locked on the other end of the hall. Shiro followed his gaze, to see the vague outline of one of the Earthers holding a shaking gun in their direction. She was shaking, and Shiro knew that was more dangerous than any intent could have been. Time slowed to a crawl as he heard the shot ring out before his brain processed the gun was firing. Beside him, he heard a telling grunt and the heavy sound of a person hitting the floor.

“Godammit - run!” Lance ground out through gritted teeth, seeing the opportunity as the Earther dropped their gun in fright, horrified by the fact that they’d actually used it. Whether they’d meant to or not wasn’t important now. The door slammed closed and that jolted Shiro out of his shock - he looked around to find Lance struggling to his feet, several people in the way preventing Shiro from reaching him. Lance threw himself against the door, using his weight to shove it open before yanking himself back out of the way. Energised by total terror, the few remaining cadets sped past him out into the night. Shiro was the last one, sparing one last glance but unable to pick out Iverson among the figures left in the far end of the hall.

He hoped he’d be okay, but Shiro wasn’t about to waste Lance’s efforts.

Outside, the night air bit into his skin. He turned to find Lance right behind him, hanging heavily on the door. He used his momentum to fling it closed, dragging the lock down into place as he dropped to the ground and rested heavily against, panting. “Hangar three. Go!” Like they’d been slapped, the shivering cadets jumped but looked at him in confusion - freshman year, few enough of them had memorised the sprawling base to know where he meant. He sighed and put a hand under him, bending the opposite leg and attempting to get to his feet. He slipped and grunted, and it was then Shiro saw the blood on his uniform - heaviest on his unbent leg, seeping outwards from several small holes near his hip. He met Shiro’s glance and narrowed his eyes.

“Gimme a lift?” he said tersely in a tone Shiro had never heard from, but then he’d never seen Lance in pain.

Nobody was the same when they were in pain.

Nodding, Shiro reached down to put Lance’s arm over his shoulder, helping to hoist him to his feet. The absurd thought of ‘he smells good’ hit Shiro and he could have kicked himself, but it was true - even under the strong coppery scent, Lance’s warmth was against him, draped over him and this was the worst time to have anything even resembling a crush. There was a wheezing sound, and Shiro realised that Lance was _laughing_.

“Is it bad? Shiro asked, stupidly.

“It’s fine… I think you’ve got… enough muscle… for both of us…” Lance managed, flashing Shiro a wink before he set his jaw and pointed to their left. “This way,” he bit out, and Shiro started them moving - Lance was slow to move, putting as little weight on his bleeding leg as possible, but they led the others along the side of the building, turning around some shipping crates and next to the firing range. Shiro was stunned by how _quiet_ it was.

As if reading his mind, Lance said, “Base… cleared out… when they called… media. No-one… allowed… in or out.”

“But then how-“ Shiro started. Lance waved his hand, weakly, cutting him off.

“Stole cargo training ship,” Lance answered simply.

A large building loomed ahead. “In there,” Lance pointed and by now the other recruits were hanging on his every word - one of them ran forward and opened the door, standing back and letting Shiro through with Lance. The hangar was unfamiliar, but the moment Shiro got his bearings he could see why - cargo ships of varying classes were dotted about, docked and sealed. One craft was free of the docking clamps, and Lance jerked his head towards it. Awkwardly, he pulled out a remote from his pocket - a master controller, which only the instructors had - and pushed a button on it. The rear doors opened out and light spilled from the ship, illuminating the way. “In, quickly,” Lance grunted. He handed off the controller to Shiro. “Don’t lose that…” he started, taking a solid breath as Shiro dragged him towards the ship. “I’m… going to be… in enough trouble… as it is. Theft… of government… property… Breaking and entering…” He bared his teeth, and it was an attempt at a smile that Shiro appreciated more than he could express.

Inside, there was standing room only - either Lance had miscalculated how many they’d had, or this had been the only option.

Maybe he didn’t think they’d all make it.

On that sobering thought, Shiro shifted his stance, striking him that other than Iverson and Lance himself, they’d all made it out unscathed. He was about to let Lance down, but the older man shook his head.

“No. Cockpit.”

“Lance, no,” Shiro tried to argue. “You’re hurt, you can’t even stand.”

“You’re all fighters,” Lance said firmly, teeth chattering as he stumbled over his words. “It’s not the same.”

Shiro was about to argue that flying was flying, but Lance nudged against him, hard.

“Trust… me.”

Lance had just rescued all of them at gunpoint. Shiro trusted him with more than his own life.

There was no more to be said - Shiro pulled Lance past the crowded students and into the single-seater cockpit, setting him down gently into the pilot seat and understanding immediately that Lance had been right - the controls were entirely foreign. No longer having to support himself with a bum leg, Lance’s eyes blazed as he flipped three switches in turn.

“All… in?” He asked, voice unnaturally quiet.

“Yeah,” Shiro responded.

Lance slammed a button and the rear doors started to close, not a moment too soon - the same hangar door they’d entered into burst open and Shiro could just make out several of the Earther’s racing in just before the ship was sealed. Lance swore next to him as several rounds of gunfire went off, some of them hitting the ship.

“Boy… do I wish… shield technology… existed…” Lance laughed, eyeing a gauge before yanking _hard_ on the steering matrix. The ship lurched into flight, a rapid ascent that it wasn’t quite built for, but that was intimately familiar - Shiro experienced it every time he got in the simulator. He frowned at Lance, but there was no time to dwell. “Controller,” Lance called out, and it took Shiro a moment to understand - he lifted the controller and found the marked button, pushing it. With a creaking, the roof split in the middle and began to open - for a brief moment Shiro braced himself as they approached, briefly feeling as though they were going to crash. Lance, however, barely slowed and they cleared the roof with mere inches to spare, trailing gunfire in their wake. The ship weaved to and fro, flinging its occupants into each other as it picked up speed and headed out across the base towards the nearest outer limit.

Lance knew exactly where he was going - as they crossed the narrow band of mountain surrounding the Garrison, a series of huge white tents came into view - hastily built shelters, likely hosting the evacuated staff and cadets. At the last possible moment, Lance killed their speed and set down neatly, right in the centre of the tent village. The moment the moment the cargo ship’s landing gear kissed the ground, the students in the hold let out a whooping cheer, practically falling out of the rear doors as soon as they began to open.

Shiro was jostled and shoved as they exited, hearing the sounds of fussing and disbelief from the growing crowd outside as people exited the shelters - the hostages were met with incredulous command staff who were, somewhat futilely, trying to get coherent answers from the jubilant group.

Lance was a hero. It was gratifying to know that Shiro had been right all along - after today, there’d be no arguing as to his skill. As the last of the survivors - _survivors_ \- hustled out, Shiro thought back to the flight here - everything about it, from the breakneck vertical takeoff and skilled manoeuvring to the perfect landing was like nothing Shiro had ever seen - Lance might be about to qualify as a cargo pilot but he flew like he’s been born in a jet. When this was over, after they’d both been debriefed to within an inch of their lives, Shiro was going to make damn sure he worked up the nerve to ask Lance how the hell he flew better than half the career fighters out there.

 _Drip, drip, drip, drip_.

Eyes narrowed, Shiro glanced back at the pilot seat - as he’d thought, Lance hadn’t yet stood - of course, not with that leg. Shiro dropped his gaze as he pinpointed the source of the sound, and it felt like time slowed down - he could almost hear his heart stop as he realised that what he’d heard was blood dripping from the pilot seat to the steadily-growing pool on the floor. It seemed to take forever to cross the few steps around the chair to see Lance slumped, eyes closed, hands slack at his sides.

Shiro took a deep breath, and yelled for all his worth, “ _Medic!!!_ ”

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Shiro tried to piece back together the following events - the moment someone answered his frenzied shouting he was knocked aside as they did what they needed to, trucking in a stretcher and calling for any medical help they could - they carried him away beside Shiro, someone straddling him to put pressure to staunch the bloodflow from his wounds and that was the last he saw of Lance. It happened so fast - he hadn’t even had time to thank Lance and then he was gone, whisked away in a sea of people behind closed doors. Not long after, with only one hostage left, the supporting national guard stormed the gymnasium to find the Earther’s immediate surrender - once the students had escaped they’d known their number was up, and the difference between ten years in prison and life imprisonment was enough to leave Iverson untouched. After failing to stop Lance’s rescue, it later came out that they’d quietly returned to the hall and awaited arrest.

The resulting media storm was unprecedented.

Public opinion swung so heavily against Earther Movement that many scientific exploration programs found themselves at the forefront of both private and governmental sponsorship. The Garrison itself had its funding increased by several strokes and announced an expansion and a planned sister campus. Best of all, when the flight logs from the cargo ship came to light, it blew popular opinion on the long-derided program wide open. There were calls to eliminate streaming entirely, and only several days after the official enquiry into the entire affair ended, the Military Education Department opened a query into the Garrison curriculum, aimed at bridging the gap between the lauded fighter pilot program and the oft-ignored cargo option.

The entire Garrison was rife with furious discussion - initial disbelief that it was _Lance_ , loser wannabe senior paved way to incredulous awe, and Lance’s social currency increased tenfold, all while he was tucked away from prying eyes in a medical centre. He’d been airlifted out not long after the incident, but news reporting of the nation’s newest hero kept the rumour mill in operation - once it broke that he’d lost the leg, there was an outpouring of appeals until a research lab declaring a prototype mechanical prosthetic was ready for human trials, and gifted the first version to Lance, but as the device was a brand new form of technology it was subject to multiple non-disclosure agreements and treated like a national secret. As such, news of Lance dried up before long.

Which was why, several weeks later, Shiro froze on the spot as he watched Lance’s lanky form saunter into the cafeteria to a shocked silence, and then an eruption of noise as his presence was realised by everyone else in the room. There was a crowd around him in an instant, and Shiro’d only managed to catch a glimpse before he was surrounded, but it was enough to take in the fact that Lance looked the same as ever - hair slightly longer in the back, movements a fraction slower but wearing the same cheerful grin as ever.

He was safe. Not only was he alive, he was walking, he was laughing.

Shiro was weaker than ever.

Lance’s eyes were scanning the crowd, looking for someone. Shiro’s heart was in his mouth, and he dared to hope. For a moment, their eyes met and oh god, he was _here_ , but then Lance kept going - there was no recognition there at at all. Someone pushed past Shiro and Lance’s smile widened - it was Hunk, and the smile that lit up Lance’s face as they reunited with a huge hug left a curl of something heavy and unpleasant in Shiro’s belly.

Unable to watch any more, he turned on his heel and left the scene behind, not feeling the eyes on his back, but able to put together the story from the babble that followed him as he left the commissary.

Lance didn’t remember. He didn’t remember any of it - not throwing the circuit breaker, ushering the students out, being shot - the fog of pain had erased it all. He’d forgotten being pressed up against Shiro, would never remember Shiro carrying him. He’d saved everyone, made Shiro fall harder than ever in love with him - Shiro, who’d loved him from day one when he was a nobody. Lance was everything to Shiro, and even after all that, Shiro was going to stay nothing to Lance.

Shiro shook his head, and with some effort, told himself it didn’t matter.

Lance was alive.

It was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://jennypen.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/supergayjen)


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